


Plan Overboard

by Britpacker



Category: Yes Prime Minister
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Humor, Political Expediency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23067439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: His brilliant scheme to play the man not the ball has worked rather too effectively.  Now Sir Humphrey has a reinvigorated PM and a defence relocation scheme to put back in their respective boxes. And if he doesn’t succeed, poor Bernard might have a three-year diet of Lossiemouth to look forward to…
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Collective Irresponsibility

**Author's Note:**

> My other fic, "Downfall" having stalled, I've found this one progressing much more smoothly. Set in the aftermath of "Man Overboard", with Humphrey still determined to prevent the entire military establishment being cast into the Outer Darkness (also known as Northern Britain).
> 
> I ought to add, I'm a Northern lass myself :) And we're actually quite civilised...

It was, even by recent standards, proving to be a fractious and uncomfortable Cabinet Committee. To think he'd once assumed that being Prime Minister would mean actually being in charge of the country! The Rt Hon. James Hacker MP was finding it almost impossible to govern a small group of his own closest colleagues.

“But you _weren’t_ supporting the scheme, Prime Minister.” Trust the Foreign Secretary, Hacker thought moodily, scoring ferocious lines across his notepad in thick black pen, to dig his teeth into a completely irrelevant point. “If you had, Dudley would never have resigned!”

“My dear Ronnie, if you believed _that_ …” 

“ _If_ I might interrupt, Foreign Secretary.” The silken, self-assured voice of the Cabinet Secretary, positioned as ever at the PM’s right hand, turned every head. Even the Industry Secretary, Bernard Woolley noticed from his discreet perch at the end of the conference table, framed by two elegant classical columns, jerked up an upright position from his usual recumbent slouch in the vast shadow cast by his colleague from Trade. “The minutes of the last OPD clearly indicate that the former Secretary of State for Employment resigned on an insignificant point of principle, rather than a matter of policy disagreement with the Prime Minister. Indeed, how could there be disagreement on a matter which wasn’t even discussed?”

“That’s true.” The Defence Secretary didn’t wait for permission before chiming in on Sir Humphrey Appleby’s side. “The Prime Minister suggested a cooling off period, with no further discussion until tempers had settled down. It’s hardly his fault Dudley’s so damned hot-headed!”

A subdued chorus of “Hear, hear!” rumbled around the length of the highly polished mahogany table. “But I do strongly urge you, Prime Minister, to allow my department to carry out a full feasibility study before we proceed any further with our former colleague’s proposal," he continued animatedly, jabbing the notepad before him with his pen as if he were trying to bayonet it into submission. "And we don’t even have an Employment Secretary to debate the matter yet! As it was an initiative in the Department of Employment's name...”

“That will be taken care of, in due course. In the fullness of time. When the moment is ripe.” Hacker frowned over the sturdy frames of his spectacles, speaking in the slow, deliberate manner he tended to adopt when implying that a member of Cabinet was being particularly obstructive. “And I’m simply suggesting that we put the subject back on the table for discussion. Had Dudley been willing to co-operate with Number Ten…”

“And the Cabinet Office,”

“It might have escaped the attention of the Foreign Secretary that they’re one and the same,” Hacker, Bernard guessed, intended a rebuke where a wiser man might have identified an admission. “And if everyone is prepared to agree to a future _consideration_ of defence redeployment, we can end this session. Bernard, what time do we have the Arts Council arriving?”

“Not until seven-thirty, Prime Minister.” Hurrying to show a gaggle of ministers the door, the Principal Private Secretary risked a worried glance at the one man who remained seated when the Prime Minister rose. Sir Humphrey Appleby gazed blandly back at him, dark eyes wide with that air of cherubic innocence Bernard, if not his political overlord, had learned to dread.

“Humphrey, you’ll be joining us, of course?”

“With pleasure, Prime Minister: but if you’ll excuse me, I do have my weekly meeting with the Permanent Secretaries to attend first.” Sweeping his papers into a slim foolscap folder the Cabinet Secretary hesitated long enough for a formal nod of dismissal before striding the length of the room and breezing out into the Private Office. “Bernard, if you have five minutes before the dignitaries arrive, I’d like to see you in my office.”

“Certainly, Sir Humphrey.”

Hacker waited for the heavy white-painted double doors to close before emitting a heavy sigh and twisting to frown at the younger man. “What’s he _playing_ at, Bernard?” he demanded peevishly. “Does Humphrey _support_ my defence relocation plan, or not?”

“I’m sure he’ll – well, that is, I expect he will do, Prime Minister. In the fullness of time. Once all the relevant and necessary studies have been undertaken and you have a fuller picture of the risks as opposed to the potential rewards, I’m sure Sir Humphrey will…”

“As bad as that, eh?” Hacker’s lean features cracked into a genuine grin and briefly Bernard could allow himself to relax. “It does _seem_ like a good scheme. It’ll look like we’re trying to reduce unemployment in - I mean, we _will_ be trying to reduce unemployment in depressed areas, obviously. But I suppose I’m going to need a Secretary of State before I can do anything about _that_.”

Bernard cleared his throat and tried to raise a reassuring smile. “Yes, Prime Minister,” he said solemnly.


	2. The General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Humphrey has some serious strategic planning to do. It's time for the Commander-in-Chief of the Civil Service to marshal his troops...

Around the large oval conference table at the heart of the Cabinet Secretary’s inner sanctum the heads of all the Whitehall departments sipped coffee whilst considering the principal matters to be laid before their ministers at the next full Cabinet. “He’s not going to give up on this damned redeployment scheme then?” Sir Alan Guthrie, on behalf of the MoD, complained.

“Not without a little more persuasion,” Sir Humphrey, lounging elegantly against the large window opposite with a coffee cup dangling carelessly from one hand, conceded gloomily. “You’ll present your man with a preliminary costing paper, of course?”

“It’s been on the back-burner, just in case.” Guthrie stretched for the coffee pot and poured himself the last dregs, too preoccupied to wince against their bitterness. “And Guy’s come up with another eight pages of strategic objections since five o’clock yesterday, as you requested.”

“Good man! No mention of a battalion of Generals' wives manning machine gun posts outside Harrods, I presume?”

“Oh, very droll, Humphrey.” Still, as his colleagues chuckled Guthrie allowed himself a reluctant grin. “I suppose a lot’s going to depend on who David gets next.”

“I was going to ask you about that.” Sir David Smith, chisel-jawed and square of shoulder, laid aside his pen and cast a thoughtful glance around his attentive colleagues. “Has the PM given any hint as to whom…”

“I don’t think the PM’s given the matter much thought - yet.”

Sir Frank Gordon, the senior official at the Treasury, smirked from the farther end of the table. “And you haven’t encouraged it, Humphrey?”

“One should never encourage any minister to _think_ , Frank: least of all the Prime Minister.” Languidly, Humphrey returned to his natural, dominant place at the table’s head and raised his pen, tapping it absently on a notepad already covered with shorthand scrawl. “We’re looking for a junior minister to step up, I think. Best not to encourage a wider reshuffle when we’ve only just got people house-trained.”

“What about my chap at Defence?” 

The Permanent Secretary of the Department for Education and Science spoke the general thought of the whole gathering. “I thought you didn’t like him, Alan!!”

“Can't bear the pompous ninny, Giles. That’s why I’d be delighted to have him out of the way!”

“It might be _difficult_ to persuade the PM he’d be an ally in the relocation scheme.” Sir Richard Wharton, Britain’s diplomat-in-chief, dabbed the last dribble of coffee from his pursed lips with a polka-dot silk handkerchief. “Given that he’d be so thoroughly acquainted with the MoD’s objections.”

“That could be seen as an advantage - a foot in both camps,” argued his counterpart from the Department of Health and Social Security.

“It’d be an advantage to my department in more ways than one,” muttered Sir Alan. Sir Humphrey raised a long finger in a peremptory gesture that silenced the impending squabble instantly.

“Ian, your junior minister did rather well with the Mobility Allowances Bill recently, didn’t he?” he said quietly. Sir Ian Whitworth frowned.

“The PM thought so,” he admitted with visible reluctance. Humphrey’s thoughtful smile widened.

“And his constituency’s in East Anglia, isn’t it? One of those that has an RAF base that might have to be turned into a motor racing circuit or something, _if_ the former Employment Secretary’s imaginative proposal went through...”

“So it does.” Sighs and smiles broke out around the table. Half a dozen drained coffee cups were simultaneously lifted in silent salute to the senior official enthroned at the table’s head. “And he doesn’t have much of a majority: a couple of hundred, if that. Were the base to close, and the civilian jobs it supports be sent hundreds of miles to the north…”

Sir Frank snorted. “He’d be a turkey voting for Christmas!” he exclaimed. Humphrey raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

“And he wouldn’t be the only one,” he murmured, closing his folder in a gesture accepted throughout the Civil Service as declaring a meeting officially closed. “George, your chap at Sport is Party Chairman these days, isn’t he?”

Sir George Hampson stroked his pencil moustache. “And his seat’s in Plymouth. Had a comfortable majority at the last election, but if something were to cause an economic downturn on the South Coast…”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll advise him against placing party considerations above the national interest.” As papers were collected and chairs pushed back the Cabinet Secretary ushered his most senior subordinates to the door with a genial smile, allowing his hand to be pumped by one then the next, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

None, he noted, was more effusive than the Permanent Secretary of Defence. Having resembled a drenched puppy on entering the room Guthrie was revitalised, positively brimming with energy for the battles ahead. “Humphrey, you’ve excelled yourself!” he exclaimed, jolting awkwardly forward as his burly counterpart from Employment cannoned in from the rear. “I’ll tell Guy to keep working on the strategic objections, just to be on the safe side, but by Jove, I think you’ve done it!”

“And having rid me of the curse of a minister with _ideas_ , we’ll all be rid of his confounded _plan_ too – at least, once the new Secretary of State realises the _constituency implications_ ,” Sir David agreed, adding a slap on the back to his own crushing handshake. Absorbing the blow with ease, Humphrey allowed himself a wicked chuckle.

“Well, that’s _my_ plan,” he agreed lightly, aware of a figure hovering at the farther side of the Private Office. “Ah, Bernard! If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

The Permanent Secretaries bundled by the desks of Sir Humphrey’s own Principal Private Secretary and the two female secretaries without sparing him a glance. “The PM’s rather hoping you’ll join him in the Cabinet Room, Sir Humphrey,” Bernard explained, glancing furtively over his shoulder to ensure all twenty-odd senior officials had actually gone. “He’s, er, getting rather _agitated_ about appointing a new Secretary of State.”

“ _Please_ tell me he hasn’t been got at by the enemy again!” Rolling his eyes extravagantly the Head of the Civil Service crossed the outer office to breeze by the younger man. “Ah, thank you, Mrs McAllister, if you really _wouldn’t_ mind clearing the table, it _would_ be most appreciated. Lead on, Bernard.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Sir Humphrey,” Bernard assured him earnestly, almost scurrying in his haste to match his boss’s long strides. “Mrs Wainwright’s daughter was sent home from school complaining of stomach pains, so she hasn’t been in since lunchtime.”

“Then we must thank Heaven for small mercies. Has the PM suggested any names in connection with the vacancy?”

“Oh no, Sir Humphrey!” Woolley seemed properly shocked at the mere suggestion that Hacker might harbour an independent thought. “I think he’s rather worried about the prospect of another major reshuffle. He had one six months ago, and he thinks it might look as if he didn’t know what he was doing to have another so soon.”

“Well, we can’t have the truth coming out I suppose.” The junior official sniggered, and a brief surge of paternal pride welled in Sir Humphrey’s breast at the unthinking disloyalty implied. “I take it that’s the cause of this _particular_ summons?”

Bernard simply grinned, darting ahead to throw open the Cabinet Room doors. “Sir Humphrey to see you, Prime Minister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Permanent Secretaries names (with the exception of Sir George from Sport) are taken either from television episodes or the Complete Yes Prime Minister (hilarious, of course) Hacker diaries.


	3. Into Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only the PM can appoint or dismiss a Cabinet minister. In theory. In practise, as Bernard discovers, it's not always that straightforward...

Peering over the thick frame of his reading glasses, Hacker managed a distracted smile. “Ah, thank you, Bernard! Do sit down, Humphrey.”

“Prime Minister.” Without appearing to take them in the Cabinet Secretary made precise note of the contents of every loose page scattered between them. “What seems to be the matter? I thought the OPD went rather well, all things considered.”

“The _matter_ is the empty chair.” Clucking with impatience Hacker indicated the seat on Sir Humphrey’s right, formerly occupied by one Dudley Belling. “I need someone to take the blame for unemployment still going up: otherwise it’ll be one more thing for the press to blame me for”

“Oh, I imagine they’ll do that anyway, Prime Minister. Just as you’ll take the credit if – _when_ – it starts to fall again,” Sir Humphrey clarified quickly. Hacker snorted.

“If it ever does,” he muttered. “Anyway, I can’t afford another reshuffle: it’ll look as if I’m indecisive. Or that I can’t control my Cabinet: and I’m not sure which is worse.”

“Well, it’s only one position, Prime Minister. And I’m sure you have any number of talented junior ministers in mind who’ll be only too eager to prove themselves worthy of your trust.”

Scanning a mental list of departmental ministers, Bernard Woolley was stumped. As, he gathered from the gentleman’s befuddled expression, was Mr Hacker.

“Well, there’s…”

Sir Humphrey cleared his throat. “What about Mrs Roberts at Education?” he suggested sweetly as Hacker began to stammer and stutter in disbelieving dread. “I understand she’s put the fear of God into the NUT: she might be just the… _person_ , to tackle the problem of youth unemployment.”

“I don’t know about God or the unions, but she terrifies me,” the Prime Minister spluttered, grabbing with a tremulous hand for the jug of water in the middle of the table – and missing, Bernard noted with amusement. “Have _her_ in Cabinet? What are you _thinking_ , Humphrey? They’re all supposed to be frightened of _me_ , not the Secretary of State for Unemploy – I mean, Employment! No, no, no, you’ll have to do better than that!”

“With respect Prime Minister, it _is_ your Cabinet.” Bernard offered tentatively. Two piercing stares bored through his skull and he blushed, nipping his lower lip. “I mean – sorry.”

“What about the Minister of State at Defence?” Humphrey volunteered, kindly diverting Prime Ministerial ire with a second, equally implausible (in Bernard’s eyes at least) candidate. Hacker emitted a high-pitched whine that might have been intended as an expression of mirth.

“Keenan? He’s in the Chief of the Defence Staff’s pocket, so there’d be no way he’d allow Dudley’s – I mean _my_ redeployment proposal to go through! Really Humphrey, I expect better from the Cabinet Secretary!”

“Oh, I _do_ apologise, Prime Minister,” Hands clasped and eyes cast down, he looked every inch the humble functionary he so often claimed to be, but James Hacker was no longer – if he ever had been – deceived by the finely-honed artifice. “Of course, I _did_ wonder – knowing how pleased you were with his work on the Mobility Allowances Act – whether you’d already decided to promote the Social Security Minister to Cabinet. Although it _would_ be a shame if the DHSS were to lose such a capable man when there’s so much more that he can achieve with them…”

“The Social Security Minister, of course…” Hacker nodded slowly, stroking his chin in a performance of contemplation no more sincere or unfeigned than that he had just critiqued. “Well, I did think about him at once of _course_ , Humphrey. He _is_ the obvious candidate for promotion. I’m glad it occurred to you – rather belatedly, I might add.”

“Alas, I fear I may not pay sufficient attention to the doings of the underlings: being as I am, primarily and pre-eminently a servant to far mightier beings.”

Only then did Bernard Woolley realise that the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had been walked, like a toddler on leading reins, straight into the blind alley already selected by the Cabinet Secretary. And that even as he graciously accepted that Cabinet Secretary’s obsequious apologies, he was doing exactly what – for reasons of his own a mere Principal Private Sec. would never presume to fathom – Sir Humphrey had wanted him to do from the start.

“Ring the DHSS immediately will you, Bernard?” Thoroughly delighted with what he took to be his own stroke of inspiration, Hacker rubbed his hands and beamed from the junior official to the senior and back. “And have Bill bring me the announcement as soon as it’s typed. That _will_ leave me with a junior ministerial post to fill from the backbenches, of course…”

Sir Humphrey took the hint with his customary swift urbanity. “Well, I’m sure you’ve been considering further ways to honour your friends there, after the unfortunate _misunderstanding_ over the peerage on your elevation to the premiership,” he murmured. Hacker actually bounced in his seat.

“Of course, _Ron Jones_!” he cried, pausing to send a withering look the length of the vast cabinet table. “And make sure you get the right one this time, Bernard!”

Bernard blushed, ducking his head. “Yes, Prime Minister," he mumbled, conscious of both the Prime Minister's censorious stare and another, more kindly, almost amused, coming from the opposite side of the table. "I’ll ask him to come in an hour, shall I?”

“Thank you, Bernard. And thank _you_ , Humphrey,” Hacker added quickly in answer to a discreet cough from the older official. “Although… I’m not sure whether Ron’s a particularly good _fit_ for Social Security. He’s always been a bit… _trenchant_ on the subject of _scroungers_. The Department might not appreciate…”

“Well, perhaps as a former Territorial he’d be more comfortable within the MoD?” Another piece fell pleasingly into place, Humphrey congratulated himself as Hacker mused unprompted that it might be _time to move Barry Keenan into a civilian environment_. “And a spell as a junior minister might well be seen as a prelude to still higher honour, should Mr Jones be inclined – at some future date – to accept it,” he concluded silkily.

“Oh, I _see_!” If he did, Bernard concluded, Hacker was one step ahead of his Principal Private Secretary – at least for the moment. “Yes, if he’s served in Government for a while, it won’t raise eyebrows at all if he’s…”

“Kicked upstairs?” Bernard volunteered hopefully.

“Ennobled as a mark of gratitude for his service to the Nation,” Sir Humphrey corrected, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging one corner of his mobile lips. Bernard cleared his throat, hiding the smirk behind his hand.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry.”

“Have Barry Keenan here in half an hour, Bernard. Humphrey, you’ll inform the relevant Permanent Secretaries?”

“With pleasure, Prime Minister.” Although probably not, Sir Humphrey decided as he followed the junior official from the room, as much as they would take in receiving news of their new appointees!


	4. Mandarins On Manoeuvres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The senior officers know their duty. It's time the Commander-in-Chief brought other ranks in to assist with the battle plan. Cue Bernard...

“Humphrey, I owe you lunch next week. And the week after that.” Alan Guthrie was not a demonstrative man, but had he been within range the Cabinet Secretary had the distinct impression his personal space would just have been invaded as ruthlessly as Poland in ‘39. “By God, I didn’t think even a nuclear war would drive that cockroach Keenan out!

“There again, it might be kinder for me to take Ian to lunch instead. He’s going to need the support more than you do, once the infernal nuisance gets his claws into Social Security!”

“Oh, I’m sure Ian will manage,” Humphrey assured him lightly. “But - don’t let Ron Jones get _too_ comfortable, will you? The PM’s intending to send him to a _higher place_ in due course.”

“Ah, so he’s a placeholder until the next reshuffle.”

“Oh, I hope he’ll last longer than that!” Although given the heady combination of ineptitude and paranoia to be inhaled in the Prime Ministerial study, Humphrey could admit to himself he wouldn’t be surprised by a reshuffle a week until the next election. “He’s an old friend of the PM, by the way – a constituency neighbour. And I know he’ll have a lot to take in, with this being his first ministerial position, but if you _could_ slip a copy of Guy’s more general strategic objections into his in-tray within the next hour…”

“Consider it done. Is David…”

“Making the necessary preparations, yes. Let me know how your new boy behaves.”

“Oh, of course. And thanks - I mean, thank the Prime Minister, won’t you?”

Both men were chuckling as they ended the call, but before he had the handset properly replaced Sir Humphrey’s moment of self-congratulation was cut short by a tap on the door. “Yes?” he called, half-rising from his seat. “Come in, Bernard” he added wearily as a familiar brown head poked into the narrowest possible gap.

“Erm, Sir Humphrey?”

“Yes, Bernard?"

“May I have a word?”

“Yes, Bernard.”

He had time to ease back into his chair – and time to call for a three-course lunch – before the younger official found the word he wanted. “About the reshuffle,” he started, birdlike glance resting everywhere but his host’s impassive face. 

“Yes, Bernard?”

“Ahem, well, I was wondering if it’ll affect the PM’s defence relocation plan in any way?”

“Oh, I hope so, Bernard.” The boy was learning, and that he dared to question his superior indicated a growing confidence. Now Humphrey needed to know if Woolley’s loyalties as well as his wits were to be counted upon. “You’re still reluctant to endure the Lossiemouth Diet, I presume?”

“Yes, Sir Humphrey. That is, I mean – well, the PM’s very keen on the idea, isn’t he? And he’s gone up in the opinion polls since the Employment Secretary’s – the former Employment Secretary’s, that is – scheme was revived.”

“Has he? He’ll be pleased with that.”

Bernard looked puzzled, but selected discretion over valour. “Although I fear he might be disappointed by the response of certain ministers to his bold and imaginative military strategies,” Sir Humphrey added gently. The other man brightened.

“You mean the new Employment Secretary’s against it?” he asked eagerly.

Humphrey gave an ostentatious shrug. “Well if he isn’t today, I’m sure he will be by his first Cabinet,” he said airily. “Oh, and Bernard…”

“Yes, Sir Humphrey?” That glint in the deep brown eyes boded ill for someone, but the fact that he was permitted to see it reassured Bernard that he was personally in the clear. 

“If the PM enthuses about his old friend Lord Ron – I mean _Mister Jones_ , of course – why don’t you encourage him to suggest a drink at the flat on Friday – or better still, a weekend at Chequers? I’m sure he’d welcome the chance to catch up in a more congenial environment than the House can offer…”

“Oh, I see." Bernard rubbed his hands. "He’s going to be against it too, is he?”

“By the end of the day, if Alan’s done as I asked.” Supremely satisfied with his day’s labours the Cabinet Secretary moved across from his desk to the well-stocked drinks cabinet on the far wall. “A small sherry to steel ourselves for the Arts Council event, Bernard?”

“Oh, thank you, Sir Humphrey.” It was, the younger man divined, going to be all right. Whatever the Prime Minister might think, his military relocation scheme had already been holed below the waterline.


	5. Pawn Into Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Humphrey has mobilised all the troops, and the barrage is proceeding nicely. The PM is coming under fire from all angles...

They entered the study together on Monday morning, the lowlier official flinging open the door for the senior as Sir Humphrey trilled his usual cheery greeting. “Good morning, Prime Minister!”

Hacker grunted, frowning up from the morning newspapers. “Morning, Humphrey. Bernard.”

“I trust you had a pleasant weekend with your old friends at Chequers?” Humphrey enquired, ever solicitous. “What a _charming_ couple!”

“Oh, yes, well, that.” As the Cabinet Secretary, all ebullient bonhomie, sidled into his seat facing the PM, Hacker gnawed his lip and knotted his long fingers. “D’ you know, Humphrey, all Ron wanted to do was _drone on_ about my defence relocation proposals. I think he’s been got at.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s been given the relevant papers by the Chief of Defence Staff; and of course, the MoD _is_ working on a full feasibility study as a matter of urgency,” Bernard’s hands were clenching convulsively, but Sir Humphrey remained sanguine. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious, Prime Minister: but as a former officer in the TA, Mr Jones will – rightly and properly – wish to be absolutely certain that the defence of the realm is in no way compromised by the rather… _dramatic_ alteration to the defence establishment you have in mind.”

Hacker pouted. “Well, it won’t be.”

“And I’m sure you’ll persuade him, Prime Minister. Shall I leave the matter on the Cabinet agenda for this week? He’s only a very _junior_ minister: I’m sure his doubts need not delay the deliberations of the mighty.”

“Yes, leave it on the agenda – but not at the top, all right?”

“As you command, Prime Minister.” With Hacker’s eyes drawn briefly down to the _Daily Mail_ leader, Sir Humphrey risked a brief, glittering grin the third party’s way. Less practised in concealing his emotions, Bernard covered the broad reply with one hand. “Now, perhaps if I might draw your attention to _this_ document, which I received from the Director of MI6 this morning…”

“Good Lord, where’s the crisis?” Hacker shot halfway out of his chair, scattering paper and pens as he lunged across his desk. Humphrey raised an eyebrow.

“Crisis, Prime Minister?” he asked smoothly.

“Well there must be – isn’t there? You never admit the existence of MI6, even to me, unless you have to!”

“Oh, well, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Prime Minister.” That phrase again, precisely calculated to make their master fret. Really, Bernard congratulated himself, standing at Sir Humphrey Appleby’s shoulder was the most privileged position in the Civil Service.

At the smallest twitch of the puppeteer’s strings, the marionette danced. “The Falklands? A KGB plot? Marxist revolutionaries planning a coup against a Commonwealth democracy?”

“No, no, no, Prime Minister, nothing like that!” Nanny had matters well in hand, Sir Humphrey’s tone implied, and Hacker relaxed slightly beneath its emollient assurance. “It’s only a rumour: hardly worthy of your attention I know, but given your _particular_ determination to support the weak against the strong…”

“Soviet troop movements in Afghanistan?" Satisfactorily panicked now, Hacker gaped helplessly across the desk. "You don’t usually tell me about that sort of thing do you, Humphrey?”

The reply was so immediate a clever man – like the Prime Minister’s Principal Private Secretary - might have presumed it prepared in advance. “They don’t _usually_ occur so close to the border with Pakistan, Prime Minister. Or if they do, they’re not routinely reported to me. Still, there’s no other evidence that it’s anything more than a Russian offensive against the local Mujahedeen. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“ _Anything_ the Russians do militarily is something to worry about when you’re Prime Minister, Humphrey.”

He accepted the scolding with a dip of the silvery head and a murmur of apology that raised every suspicion a well-schooled subordinate possessed; but Hacker accepted it with a dismissive nod. “Well, thank you for drawing it to my attention anyway, Humphrey,” he said, and the other man rose gracefully, sweeping the offending paperwork back into his file. “And advise MI6 that we’re to be keep informed – _closely_ informed – of any further developments.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.” With a flick of the eyes the Cabinet Secretary directed that well-drilled subordinate to the door, sweeping out before unleashing a devilish smile. “I think that went rather well, Bernard,” he purred, leaning in close enough to conceal the comment from any other ear. “And I understand Field-Marshal Howard has an appointment before lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sir Humphrey.”

“Excellent! If you can call into my office during the afternoon…”

The brown head wagged. “Certainly, Sir Humphrey. The _need-to-know_ basis?”

“Well done, Bernard.” A hand clapped down hard on his shoulder, and though he staggered beneath its weight the warmth of it enabled the Private Secretary to float back to his own desk on air. 

Lossiemouth would be off the menu by the weekend. He was certain of it.


	6. Unconditional Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cabinet is un-cooperative. It's hardly the place of their humble servant to enlighten the Prime Minister as to why, but those little technicalities have never stopped Sir Humphrey Appleby...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of Man Overboard are never mentioned again during the final series of YPM, so I've always taken it for granted that defence relocation never happened. I hope you've enjoyed reading - stay safe and well in these difficult times!

“I don’t understand it.” As the grey line of his senior ministers filed out of the Cabinet Room, Jim Hacker dropped his aching head into both hands. “I thought they were all in _favour_ of military relocation! Well, not Paul, obviously - the MoD had _him_ nobbled from day one. But the rest of them thought it was a vote-winner – I mean, a valuable and imaginative weapon in the fight against unemployment in the most deprived areas of the country. Now even Robin – the Secretary of State for Employment, the man I promoted to see it through! – is telling me we need more time to _assess the ramifications_. I’m beginning to wish I’d never sacked Dudley!”

“Erm, excuse me, Prime Minister, but didn’t he resign?”

“Thank you, Bernard,” Sir Humphrey intervened before the ensuing burble of Prime Ministerial outrage could attain a basic level of coherence. “And with respect, Prime Minister, it may be that the Employment Secretary has… certain grounds for a degree of _caution_ with regard to precipitate and potentially permanent action being taken in this case.”

“Oh?” Over the top of his reading glasses, Hacker fixed his right-hand man with an interrogative stare. “What grounds for caution? And why doesn’t he tell me about them?”

Sir Humphrey bit his lip. His dark gaze, usually so penetrating, slid beyond Hacker’s shoulder to settle somewhere in the middle distance. “Prime Minister it is not for a mere functionary, a humble official, to lay such a matter before the mighty…” he hedged, adding a minor shuffle in his seat for maximum effect. 

Hacker leaned forward so abruptly he almost head-butted his neighbour. “Humphrey! What is a member of my Cabinet keeping from me?” he demanded, several octaves above his normal range.

“Well, I think it might be several members of the Cabinet actually.”

Usually pale, Hacker turned positively puce at the murmured clarification. “What?” he squawked. “Humphrey, I _insist_ you tell me what they’re whispering about behind my back!”

“I, Prime Minister?” Hands upraised, eyes wide, the Cabinet Secretary was the very image of wounded innocence. Hacker glowered, and with a sigh of entirely implausible reluctance Sir Humphrey produced a single sheet of paper from his file.

“I fear this is _highly_ improper,” he purred, sliding it to lay directly beneath Hacker’s nose as the other man fumbled with his spectacles. “As a mere civil servant I ought not to have come into possession of a Party document but, given its sensitivity… I _do_ hope you’ll forgive the Service this appalling lapse! It was given to me at the Permanent Secretaries’ meeting yesterday. Certain of my colleagues feared it might unduly influence their ministers and alas! I see now their concerns were justified.”

“What – _what?_ This is an internal Party poll! Humphrey, who authorised this?”

“Who can say, Prime Minister?” 

“Somebody had _better_ say! You co-ordinate security: surely _you_ can find out?”

“Ah, but this is an internal Party matter, with no security implications for the nation.” Unarguable fact to a civil servant like Bernard Woolley: but not, it seemed, to a panicking political leader.

“Anything that affects the stability of the Government has a security implication for the nation!” Hacker yelped, grabbing at the Cabinet Secretary’s arm. Prising the claw from his bicep, Sir Humphrey shook his silvery head.

“Ah, but your Government is entirely stable surely, Prime Minister: and this _is_ just a Party poll.”

“One that says we’ll lose fifteen to twenty seats across the South and East of England if my – if _Dudley’s_ \- relocation programme is implemented, without making any gains to compensate in the North!” Transfixed, Hacker prodded the offending document with the end of his pen, as if its very proximity offended him. “How did _you_ get hold of this?”

Humphrey shrugged. “As I said, Prime Minister, it came into the possession of a Permanent Secretary. Given that the question of defence redeployment was on the Cabinet agenda, he felt it might be prudent to disclose it, in the strictest confidence of course, to the Cabinet Secretary.”

“ _Which_ Permanent Secretary?” Immediately the question was asked, every man present knew it would never be answered. “All right: why did a senior official feel obliged to inform the Head of the Civil Service about an internal Party poll that no minister has seen fit to mention to the _Prime_ Minister?”

“Well, obviously because that civil servant foresaw the effect of the Party’s internal polling on his minister’s enthusiasm – or otherwise – for a scheme known to have the _support_ of the Prime Minister.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Hacker admitted, clearly suspicious of the explanation’s clarity. “But why didn’t anyone tell me?”

A nervous cough erupted from the end of the table. “Er, Sir Humphrey just has, Prime Minister.”

“Shut up, Bernard!”

With the smallest shift of the head Sir Humphrey offered a silent apology for their master’s uncharacteristic rudeness. Only fair, Bernard reflected: he had deliberately provoked it by making Hacker panic.

“Prime Minister, it was feared by several of my colleagues that their ministers might place the interests of the Party – perhaps even of themselves - above those of the nation as a whole,” Humphrey explained, lifting both hands to stop the inevitable tsunami of wounded protest. “Alas, too many men are guided primarily and pre-eminently by considerations of private profit and personal advancement! It falls to few mortal men to set an example of selfless dedication, even to the point of self-immolation, to the Greater Good of the Nation.”

“According to this, we’d get no thanks at all from the North-East.” Completely engrossed in the harrowing statistics before him, Hacker missed the deliberate capitalisation: which meant he also missed, Bernard noted with relief, the pinching of lips and furrowing of brow that tightened his neighbour’s features. “Good God, why didn’t anyone _tell_ me this damned plan might lose us the next election!”

“Surely not, Prime Minister!” 

“On these figures… Good Lord! Perhaps that was Dudley’s intention all along! _His_ majority would increase according to _this_ …”

He jabbed the offending paper so hard his pen tore straight through it. “I’m sure the former Employment Secretary wouldn’t have initiated such a proposal against the interests of his Government colleagues, Prime Minister,” Humphrey soothed, retrieving the unfortunate document before it could sustain further injury. “However, given the possible – nay, probable – effect upon his own constituency, it is perhaps comprehensible that the present Secretary of State should express reservations unlikely to have unduly alarmed his predecessor…”

“If the back benches see this…” Helpless, Hacker looked from one to the other and back, eventually settling a beseeching gaze on the Cabinet Secretary’s serene features. Sir Humphrey’s broad shoulders rolled.

“Difficult,” he said solemnly.

“There’ll be uproar!”

Over his years in this particular politician’s service, Bernard Woolley had witnessed – or so he thought – the full gamut of expression contained within the human facial features.

He had been wrong.

Hacker’s mouth fell open. Then twisted. His broad brow furrowed; and relaxed. Every individual muscle above the throat spasmed as his general expression flashed from panic, through awe to – momentarily – a gigantic grin: and finally, as if they had at last decided on a suitable settlement, into an air of gentle, if befuddled, contentment.

“It’ll be awfully difficult to get any legislation relating to defence relocation through the House,” he ventured at length. Sir Humphrey folded his hands. Pursed his lips.

“Oh, very difficult,” he said gravely. Bernard cleared his throat.

“You don’t actually _need_ to legislate before moving a few regiments, Prime Minister,” he volunteered before two well-aimed laser glares struck his skull. “I mean, we’d never be able to defend ourselves if Parliament had to approve…”

Hacker and Sir Humphrey exhaled matched exasperated sighs. “Thank you, Bernard,” they said together.

The senior official thought for a moment. “Of course, it _might_ prove necessary to lay certain elements of the proposal before the House,” he mused, and Hacker jolted out of his chair as if he’d been electrocuted, his jaw dropping into another monumental grin. “Several of the properties and establishments affected by the proposed redeployment, which the original proposal proposes in principle should be offered for sale and development, may prove to be unsuitable: and it may require the passing of, at the very least, some quite specific legislation to permit any change of use.”

“Yes, I suppose it might.” Stroking his chin, Hacker appeared to be giving the Cabinet Secretary’s words every possible consideration. “And – wouldn’t it be awfully expensive to clear the existing military training areas like Salisbury Plain?”

“Oh, prohibitively expensive, Prime Minister.”

Hacker was on a roll, and when that happened his officials knew how difficult he could be to slow down – even when they were actively trying to. “And we’d have to cordon off vast areas of land in the North to replace those facilities, wouldn’t we?” he suggested. 

Humphrey took the hint with his customary suave alacrity. “The Yorkshire Dales, perhaps. Or the Lake District,” he agreed, frowning. “Perhaps… the Scottish Highlands would make an excellent training ground for the Royal Marines: and I’m sure the local tourist authorities wouldn’t mind. After all, the Defence of the Realm must be paramount.” 

Hacker’s head wagged violently. “Oh, absolutely paramount,” he seconded. “That’d need legislation too, wouldn’t it? The Government can’t just go requisitioning land willy-nilly…”

“Certainly not, Prime Minister!” Sir Humphrey was suitably scandalised. 

For several moments the cavernous chamber was silent. Bernard’s eyes flicked from one man to the other and back. Hacker’s, he noted, remained fixed on Sir Humphrey’s face.

The Cabinet Secretary spoke first, all diffident deference before the democratically elected representative of the nation. “I wonder, Prime Minister, if I might make a suggestion?”

The relief that flooded Hacker’s lean features brightened the whole chamber. “Certainly, Humphrey,” he said majestically, adding a distinctly regal twirl of the hand. Forgotten at the far end of the table, Bernard released the breath he had been holding.

“May I propose that an inter-departmental committee, with fairly broad terms of reference, be established to further consider the question of any potential redeployment of the existing military establishment?” Humphrey began, discreetly omitting to notice the great sigh of relief that whistled by his ear. “Comprising, in the first instance, fairly senior representatives from the Ministry of Defence and the Departments of Employment, the Environment, Transport, Industry and – given the complex and rather nebulous effects on several communities, both military and civilian, that might be involved – the Department of Health and Social Security; with further input and support being available from the Law Officers, the Home Office and of course the local authorities in all the regions potentially affected as seems advisable or necessary. And we must not allow ourselves to forget that possibly, at some future date – given the serious and sensitive nature of the matter at hand – our partners and allies in both NATO and the EEC may have to be consulted as well.”

“Oh of course, our allies abroad would _have_ to be consulted if there were to be _strategic_ implications.” Hacker’s grin was widening with every syllable, to the point that Bernard rather feared for the Prime Ministerial jawbone. 

“Indeed, they would, Prime Minister. After all, NATO’s whole battle plan might have to be re-drawn.”

Hacker blinked owlishly. “Would it?” he asked. Sir Humphrey raised his hands.

“Well – it _might_ ,” he said doubtfully. 

“Well, we can’t risk upsetting the American – I mean, inconveniencing our allies,” the PM corrected himself hastily. Sir Humphrey beamed, all cherubic benevolence.

“So: as a first stage, perhaps you might wish to consider setting up a number of general, wide-ranging working groups, comprising all interested parties on a national and regional basis, to co-ordinate a broad general strategy for discussion and further consultation by a carefully selected inter-departmental committee at an unspecified future date?” he enquired, dark eyes respectfully downcast. 

The Right Honourable James Hacker MP straightened his shoulders. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Let’s drop it!”

With a satisfied smile and the smallest inclination of his head the Cabinet Secretary rose, sweeping his papers together. “You’ll set the wheels in motions?” Hacker prompted, staying his departure with a hand. 

Sir Humphrey’s minimal grin widened: and Bernard if no one else identified the triumph in his familiar deferential response.

“Yes, Prime Minister.”


End file.
